


A debt well paid

by River_in_Egypt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 10:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11987973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_in_Egypt/pseuds/River_in_Egypt
Summary: Draco is torn between wanting revenge for his misery and trying to build a new life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I passed by Chateau d'If in the spring, I imagined Draco as Edmund Dantes, innocently incarcerated, brooding in its depth. Fitting in the other characters, was a more lengthy process. I hope you'll enjoy.
> 
> Summary of the original:
> 
> In Alexandre Dumas' highly successful novel, 'The Count of Monte Cristo', Edmund Dantes was a young sailor with very good prospects and high hopes for promotion and a really good life before he got into the machinery of two governmental systems changing (from Louis-Philippe of France back to Napoleon for 100 days in 1815.) He was betrayed by Fernand Mondego (who hoped to win the affection of Dantes wife-to-be, Mercedes) on the eve of his wedding and was imprisoned for many years in Chateau d'If in Marseille. 
> 
> After six years in prison, he befriends the Abbé Faria, who had managed to dig a tunnel from his cell, trying to escape, and landed in Dantes' cell. Faria tells Dantes about the treasure on an Island (of Monte Cristo) where Dantes goes after his escape from prison and comes back a rich man.  
> After his return, Dantes is out for revenge. With his money, he can "buy" a lot of justice, he thinks, and he definitely takes revenge on Mondego, now the Count de Morcerf, who did marry Mercedes, Dantes' former fiance, and they have a son. Titles were given for services to the Crown in those days, and I gave Draco a higher ranking title, just to stick it to his betrayer. My apologies for the Ron-bashing here.
> 
> Another character important to this story is Haydée, who's father was equally betrayed by Fernand Mondego and who was subsequently sold into slavery. Dantes frees her and while he exacts revenge on a few other characters I left out of the fic, lest it become a novel like Dumas', she stays with him and later they fall in love. After all this betrayal and revenge and justice seeking, the novel ends with the outlook of love. And, erm, wisdom to those who wait and hope.
> 
>  
> 
> And of course: many, many thanks to my beta, mccargi: you're the best! I cannot say it enough!

Chapter 1:

"Mama, Mama, he's here, he's here."  
"Who is, Darling?" Sitting in her parlour, amongst all the richness money could buy and connections could procure, Pansy couldn't scold her son's exuberant entrance. She loved her baby too much, her only son. 

"The man who saved me from the street ruffians. He was so heroic, he defended me alone against three."

Pansy was more than pleased. Besides deserving her gratitude for assisting her child in a life-threatening situation, she was quite keen to meet a real, fine gentleman. Her husband's companions and acquaintances left much to be desired in terms of chivalry. They all carried titles; still, the difference remained¬ between good breeding and new nobility. Although, Pansy couldn't complain, really, as she benefitted much from her status as Countess. 

"Well, then we have to greet him properly, don't we, Darling?" She stroked her son's red hair and his heated cheeks with both hands. What would she do without her little darling boy?

The servant entered. "Madam, I present you the Duke of Exeter"

What, a Duke, thought the Countress of Devon delighted. She tried to get up for a courtsy, observing etiquette, before her tea cup slipped from her hands and shattered violently on the marble floor when a tall, well-dressed gentleman entered the parlour behind her servant. In anyone else Pansy would have thought he needed a decent meal, but, despite his slimness, this gentleman exuded resentfulness and rancour, and Pansy immediately dismissed any thought of ever hosting him. 

When the man raised his head from the formal greeting and struck her with eyes grey as the London fog, she knew why.

"Draco!" Pansy's voice trembled with the suppressed shock of seeing him, and she raised herself on shaky knees with concerted effort.

"Pansy." Draco appeared calm and composed, but the long suffering had left a deep fury, which he barely restrained.

Pansy stayed where she stood but couldn't help reaching out a hand to her former fiancé. "Oh my god, Draco, how have you been? Where have you been?"

Draco's face darkened. "You have to ask me where? You know quite well where I was these past 10 years."

Her hand sank back like a sack of sand. "I know, but ... how ... what are you doing here?"

He sneered. "Is it so unthinkable that I want to see what became of the woman I was supposed to, no, about to marry when I was arrested? It's not as though you sent me any letters, to tell me of your lot, of your heartbreak and your trials to prove my innocence and free me."

Only when she whimpered, did Draco realize that they were not alone in the room. "And of your good fortune in having a child. Is he mine?"

That roused Pansy from her shock. "Draco!" she admonished in a hiss. Then she turned to her child. "William, darling, will you leave us? This gentleman and I have urgent matters to discuss. I will call you when it's time for you to come back."

Despite her soft tone, there was no mistaking the order she gave. The boy snuck from the room, eyes wide, and closed the door behind him.

With the closing of the door, all her noble pretenses fell away. If Draco hadn't seen this side of Pansy before, he might have been a little intimidated. "You know quite well that you were arrested before our wedding night. Of course, he's not yours. Can you imagine a Malfoy with red hair? Do you know anybody in my family with red hair? Of course not. You know who his father is. My husband, the Count of Devon, Ronald Weasley."

As it was, he wasn't even mildly impressed. "Right, Pansy. From my bed into the next. How long did it take you, two months? And not a word of regret. Shame on you."

He still wasn't touched, even when tears flooded her eyes. "You know I didn't have much choice. What would have happened to me if I hadn't found another husband, and quickly? In those days, with the Dark Lord in power, a single woman was without protection."

Draco sneered, doubtful of Pansy's intentions. "And there was no honest man who could have taken you for a wife? You had to take the next best?"

Pansy was shocked, even though she expected his resentment. "How can you say such a thing? What would be wrong with Ronald? He courted me properly, supported me after your arrest, and his family is as old as yours."

Draco's scorn was a thing to behold. "Do you really have to ask? Do you really not know? I don't believe you."

"Know? Know what?" Pansy's confusion was real.

So was Draco's fury. "That your husband is behind my imprisonment. That your husband finally managed to get me locked up, so he could marry you."

He had bent forward, taken in by his own angry emotions, and he realized it when Pansy retreated from him, wordlessly grasping on to the back of her chair for support.  
"I... what? I don't believe you. Ron wouldn't ..."

Draco straightened up. "Oh, he would, and he did. But his time to reap rewards for wrong-doing is over. So, unfortunately, is yours. The purpose of my visit today is to tell you that I own your house here, and I want Ronald Weasley and his traitor-riffraff gone by the end of the week."

If it was possible, Pansy blanched even more. "Own my house? What do you mean? Why? How can that be?"

Draco snorted. "Quite simple. I bought up all of his debts, which were quite a few, as he's more than willing to borrow money on his good name alone, and with this I own everything you do. And seeing as he is responsible for me ending up in Azkaban, I have no compunction whatsoever to put him out in the street. Where he will be picked up by law enforcement, for certain, because I believe he offended quite a few people in not returning their moneys."

"Listen, Draco, Ron will be back soon, and then we can sort this all out. Surely, he cannot be responsible for your arrest, and on the day I was getting married to you. He loves me, he really does," Pansy pleaded.

"He covets you, and for that, he went to all lengths," Draco spat. "Including the arrest of an innocent man."

In their heated discourse, they only noticed said man entering when he rounded Draco and came to stand next to Pansy, putting his arm around her shoulders. Immediately, she cuddled to his side. "Ron, thank God, you're home. What is this, Draco is saying, we are in debt and don't own our house anymore? Surely, he is mistaken."

In the ten years passing, Ron Weasley had begun to look more and more like his father, with a paunchy face, a gut from too many drinks, and a still red but receding hairline. He had a pasty complexion, and Draco figured Ronald Weasley wouldn't have stood a chance in a fight, unfit as he was from the abundance of wealth. All he had to offer his family in ways of protection were his good name and his noble title, undeserved as it was. Draco silently hoped that the bad conscience over misbegotten deeds may have wormed its way through what a feisty, ambitious young man Weasley had been. 

"Malfoy. To what do I owe this displeasure?" Even his voice sounded pasty, Draco realized.

"He goes by Duke of Exeter," Pansy inserted urgently.

The recognition of the name, mixed with some fear visible in the other man's face gave Draco some satisfaction. 

"I do, indeed. With the ownership of a certain island in the Mediterranean comes this title, bestowed by Harry James Potter."

Ron's face was as white as his wife's. "Harry would never ...," he blustered.

"Oh, but he did," Draco interrupted. "For services rendered to help defeat the Dark Lord. Potter was quite grateful that I could assist him in that, his final purpose. Something you should have done, I figure, or Granger, but you were too cowardly to be there for him. So, I did it."

The name Granger brought another wave of recognition mixed with fear and irritation ontoWeasley's face. Draco smiled grimly. "Alas, you do know what happened to Granger. So, let's say, she wasn't quite able to do her part."

 

When Ron was rendered speechless; Draco felt his job was done. "I leave it to you to explain to your loving wife just how very many debts you accumulated and what happens if someone were to buy them up. I want you gone by the end of the week, Weasley. This is my house now."

That moved Ron to a last stance. "But, what will happen to my family? You just saved my son from an attack. You cannot be quite as heartless as to put us out in the street?"

Draco sneered. "As heartless as you, you mean, having an innocent man arrested on his wedding day to the woman he loved? Saving your son was common chivalry, something you are obviously completely lacking. Your staff will find other employment, I'm sure. The rest of your family is none of my concern."

"But my son, my son." Pansy was beside herself when her impending fate sank in.

Coldly, Draco replied. "Nothing will happen to your son. He will still have both his parents and be able to live, I'll make sure of that. Unlike me, that is, who lost practically everything, including, very nearly, my dignity. I do not avenge myself on innocent children, so he will live. Well enough, that is. I will put you two up in another house, until he comes of age."

Focusing his full fury on the man responsible for his fate and the woman he’d dragged along, Draco spat, "But you and your ’husband’ will feel the pain of it for the rest of your lives."

With that, he turned and left without another word. He never looked back.

 

*****


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Lying on his moth-eaten pallet one night, Draco almost gave up. Curled into an embryo position, for warmth and the illusion of being protected, he thought he wouldn't be able to focus on vengeful thought much longer, filling his mind purposefully with something the Dementors couldn't take. They didn't keep you as warm as loving thoughts would have, but the despair left behind when loving thoughts were taken was much worse than coldness, and he couldn't take it. Plotting his revenge, however, gave him some silverlining, some purpose while rotting away in the dank depths of Azkaban. Innocently, too.

Yes, his family had been close to the Dark Lord. But, Draco himself, had never done anything to warrant being arrested. How Weasley had managed to get to the Dark Lord and convince him that Draco was not only a traitor, but that Weasley himself would be a good substitute, Draco would never know nor understand. His parents already dead, the Voldemort "administration" had seized all the Malfoy properties upon his incarceration and had likely given some to Weasley as reward. Draco only hoped that Weasley didn't live in Malfoy Manor. Lucius would turn in his grave if he knew of the sacrilege - and blame Draco, as usual, for being an insufficient son to protect the Malfoy heritage. What a caring father he had been.

With a sigh, Draco fought off the chill creeping in with the Dementors' mental probes, which tried to see if there was any love left in his thoughts of his family. There wasn't, but thoughts of family led to thoughts of home, to thoughts of caring, and that's where they usually got him. Quickly he switched back to his anger over having lost his home, his fortune, his position, his life, basically. It felt familiar. Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, was his mantra. Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, he thought. And again: Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, until his blood boiled, and the coldness receded when the guardian outside moved on with empty claws. 

He must have said it out loud and he almost lost his dignity when a reply came from the corner of his cell. "Weasley put you in here, did he?" Then a sigh followed. "Ron, Ron, what happened to you? Did the loss of your family make you completely barmy?"

Draco was up and in a defensive position in a millisecond, before he realized that there was nothing to defend himself with. He tried to focus onthe dark corner instead, to see what or who had snuck into his cell undetected. 

A scruffy, dark-haired, heap of a man slumped against the wall, next to a hole where a brick had come out. In a dark corner of his mind, Draco recognized the voice. He would always recognize this voice.

"Potter!" he hissed furiously. It was better not to shout or scream, you learned that early on. It attracted their guardians.

"Hullo, Malfoy," the heap replied. "Good to see you."

"Can't say the same," Draco hissed back. Old habits. Something about Potter always brushed him backwards. 

Potter chuckled weakly. Then he coughed, and Draco thought, hell, if I were happy, I would be happy to see him alive. He's close to death's door. 

Seeing that the other man didn't have a wand either, Draco succumbed to the pressure of his conscience. There was no reason to keep up old animosity when they were in the same boat. He moved to the corner with as little sound as possible to assess the other man's state.

Potter looked a mess. To say that he was thin would have been an overstatement. Potter was haggard in a way no lack of food could achieve. Draco suspected that his former enemy had been screwed by Voldemort with magic unimaginable. And that Potter-the-Gryffindor had more positive thoughts the Dementors could steal. In addition, was he not prone to seek revenge as Draco did. Potter was simply a broken man, physically and magically at the end of his rope, by the looks of it. 

"How did you get here?" Draco inquired curiously, in light of Potter's state. 

Potter jerked the head toward the hole in the wall. "Dug a hole. Your cell is one level down from mine."

"But how ..." Draco insisted before Potter's grim smile stopped him. There, before his very eyes, Potter turned himself into a mole, and back into the emaciated man he was a second later.

Draco had to bite his lip to not laugh out loud. "Your animagus form is a mole?"

Potter smiled again. "If it suits me."

Involuntary admiration flooded Draco when he realized what Potter had disclosed. "You can do more than one form? By Salazar, that's unheard of."

Potter waved Draco's exuberance wearily aside. "Voldemort keeps forgetting that magic goes both ways. When he imbues me with his magic, I gain, too. I may only be a shell of the man I used to be, but I possess powers like he himself. I just haven't found the right combination of what would do him in, and I'm at the end of my tether. I don't have much more me in me. That's why I came to see you."

"Erm, Potter, I'm really not a big fan of yours, you know." Draco tried to hide his confusion behind the bullying of old. 

Harry smiled benevolently. A little more, and he could go become a saint, Draco thought. He had the right face for it. The only thing missing was the glory.

"I know," Harry said. "And it's not cheering on I need. It's insight, and anger, and the confirmation of how I can do it."

"That sounds like cheering on to me, and you know I'm not the right man for it," Draco rebuffed him.

Harry shook his head. "Please, Draco. There's nobody else. You cannot want to keep Voldemort in power, after everything that has happened to you. Don't you want to get out of here?"

"How would helping you help me to get out of here?" Draco queried. 

"I'll tell you in good time." Potter waved him off. "All I need today is your commitment to see me through to the end. I won't survive the finale, you know." If Potter looked a little sad, it was difficult to see because Potter was a sad figure through and through. In older times, Draco would have triumphed over Potter's decline. Sitting in Azkaban himself, seeking to regain the semblance of his own life, or a new one, he understood Potter was his only chance. Even if it irked him. 

"What would you want me to do?" he ventured cautiously.

Potter took his hand, and Draco had to bite his lips again to not shake him off. Basic decency 101. "Talk to me, be there for me, just keep me sane. And tell me what you can about Voldemort. Maybe you have some useful information."

Now it was Draco's turn to shake his head. "How do we do that? Do you think you can stay in my cell here? They will find you and then woe betide you."

Potter grinned and Draco couldn't help seeing the resemblance to a skull. "I will return to my cell and you will come to me."

Draco laughed derisively. "And how will I accomplish that, without being caught?"

Potter's skull grinned even broader.

*****

Time moves at its own pace, and it goes rather quickly when you need it badly, but moves at a snail's pace when you want it to pass. Draco wasn't sure how much time had passed; he had stopped counting the days about two years back, but the moon had waned and waxed and waned again before the silver falcon was able to negotiate the hallways. Most difficult had been not to shriek in triumph every time he turned. He had to remain silent, and soundlessly as only nature can be, he flung himself from his cell and flew up one level to enter Potter's.

Magically strapped to a table, a recent cautionary measure from Voldemort, Potter acknowledged Draco's arrival with a blink, but remained silent otherwise. Draco usually remained in the shadow, to avoid drawing any attention from outside the cell door, and conversed with Potter through Legilimency. 

Hope is a dangerous thing. Draco clung, as much as he could, to his plans of revenge should he get out, while thinking ofevery little thing he knew about the Dark Lord, feeding Potter information only a former Death Eater and only survivor of an inside family could have. 

Until one day, Potter jerked when yet another image of Voldemort attacking a hopelessly underprepared follower flooded their minds. Draco received only a glimpse of the connection Potter had made before it was shut down and he couldn't quite make it out. 

"It's better you don't know," Potter whispered, speaking for a change. "I will still need a day or two, and you never know where the spies are."

'Go back to your cell,' Potter urged mentally. 'Just promise me something, Malfoy. When you get out, go look for Hermione. She was taken in the same ambush I was, and I have no idea what happened to her. The fact that she hasn't been able to contact me doesn't bode well. If you find her dead, give her a good burial. If you find her alive, take care of her as much as you can. From afar if you cannot get close. Just make sure that she lacks for nothing.'

Draco chuckled. Typical Potter. Always looking out for his friends. 

'I have no money, Potter,' he transmitted mentally. 'All my possessions were seized. If I get out, I have to fight for myself, you know.'

Potter snorted. 'You didn't think I would leave you without means, did you?'

And then he told Draco the secret of where the Potter family had stashed more money than even a Malfoy could dream of, passing the secret-keeper bond on to a former enemy. 'I'm sure we are somehow related.' He even wheezed while thinking, and Draco heard how Potter held himself together by a thread. 'All Sacred 28 are somewhere, if you look close enough. So, it stays in the family, somehow.'

'Now go. Let me gather my last strength. Remember me. And use the life you are given to do some good, Malfoy. Please. Don't let my sacrifice be wasted.'

If Draco felt short-changed for a moment for not being openly thanked, he beat that emotion down immediately. Potter gave him the chance for a new life, for the small servitude of a few weeks' caring. If anybody should be grateful, it was Draco. 

*****


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The delicate vase broke with a rather vulgar smash against the doorframe. A saucer of similar delicacy followed in the same spectacular way.

He would never forget the last look on Potter's face before the man gave his life to defeat the Dark Lord.  
Unwanted thoughts intruded on his traumatized mind, as they always did in unchecked moments, and Draco thought he would never be able to erase the shadows the years in Azkaban had left behind from his brainwaves. He had been such a promising, hopeful young man, and now revenge had possessed him. 

Facing his past, as with the visit to Pansy, didn't help either. Still, he didn't want to carry his anger any longer than he had to, and particularly not when he was meeting her. Anger had served its purpose, keeping him sane in Azkaban; however, he didn't want to repulse her, and she didn't need to see this.

Draco roared. Why was he so lacking in self-restraint?

"Yes, I would be quite piqued, too, if I had destroyed a 100.000 Pound vase from the Ming Dynasty," came a dry voice from the bedcovers.

He couldn't help admiring Potter despite their former animosity, the brazen Gryffindor. And because of his admiration he had kept his promise. He had agreed to what Potter asked him , and he had clung to this commitment all the way flying over France after his escape.

Trembling in fury, he turned to the voice, a matching tea cup still in hand. 

"Put that down, Draco, really. You will regret it later. It was your mother's tea service." The fine-boned, brown-haired woman tried to pacify him. When he didn't reply immediately, she reached out her hand beckoning him to join her on the bed.

With immense restraint, he followed her siren call. He put the cup on a small table and took a seat on the bed. That wasn't quite what the woman had intended, and so she leaned forward to pull him backwards and down onto the mattress beside her. Then, she leaned over him and caressed his cheeks with her lips.

"Don't let it eat you up, Draco. Please,”she implored.“I don't want to lose you to that hate that comes with being consumed by revenge. What will become of our plans if you keep working yourself up over injustice long past? I need you to stay focused on what we have to do."

He captured her head, tilting her face so he could kiss her fully on the mouth. She replied in kind until with a soft sigh she couldn't maintain her upright position because her arms gave out. In a quick move, he had turned her over and reversed their positions, staring down at her heart shaped face and the wild locks, which even in captivity couldn't be tamed. One does not simply destroy the locks of Hermione Granger. They had been shorn, true, but in growing back they were as strong as ever. Just like their owner. Draco's heart lurched in his chest as he thought of her resilience.

He lowered his forehead to her chest and mumbled between her breasts. "How can you be so forgiving? It certainly wasn't fun in Azkaban, but it was nowhere near as brutal as what you have endured. Betrayed by your own friends, no less. I would have destroyed every one of them as soon as I'd gotten my hands on a wand again. Especially being as powerful as you."

She sighed and stroked his hair. He felt her calm heartbeat and thought he could never measure up to her strength. This woman was a miracle. He loved how tender she was with him when he knew quite well that she could annihilate him in a split second if she wanted to.

"And what good would that do?" she replied wearily. "Would that make my harm become undone? No. Would it give me satisfaction? Perhaps, for a short while and then what? I would blame myself for having orphaned a few children who have nothing to do with the bad deeds of their parents. I found my peace with you. I know Harry did what he could and had to do, and you helped him. And I'd rather remain at peace. With you, if you keep having me. As I have nothing else to offer but me."

"Which is plenty, Granger, and don't you forget that."

She chuckled prettily.

Draco stayed where he was, listening to the rumbling of her soft voice in her chest when she spoke, her laughter, such a joyous sound, enjoying the soft heaving of her chest with her breathing. Peace.

This was the other reason he had kept his promise. He owed Potter for being honorably, officially released from prison. He had escaped in the mayhem after Voldemort's defeat, yes, by turning himself into his animagus form and flying over the Channel. But he could never have returned to Britain as a refugee, had not Potter left a recorded testimony behind. It confirmed that Draco Malfoy's assistance had been crucial in said defeat and that the reasons for his imprisonment should be carefully re-evaluated. For that reason, under the new government, his unjustified sentence should be revoked and penance paid for time unjustly done. An owl had reached Draco on the shores of the French Riviera to tell him of his overturned sentence, his liberty to return to his home country, and his reinstated properties. 

The government was in no position to reimburse his fortune in full; however, in due time ...

He didn't need any money from the government. He had just returned from the island, with his pockets full of gold, richer than the Malfoy family had been before. However, being owed by a government would come in handy, he figured. There were a few favours he just might want to cash in on. 

What needed to be done immediately was to fulfill the promise he had made to Potter. He was going to find Granger and pay that debt he owed. Afterward, he would enjoy life to its fullest. 

Coincidence or the powers that be had helped him. 

He remembered how he'd found her. With his pockets full, he had decided to travel back slowly, taking the scenic route, so to say, to fill his mind with beauty and serenity. He took regional trains to be able to watch the scenery go by and stopped in small villages he liked on first sight. 

He had taken lodging in a village in Provence, to stay for a day and smell the lavender and spices this region was famous for, and was just about to have a glass of wine sitting on the front porch of the local watering hole when he noticed a scruffy countryman enter and partake of stronger spirits at the bar. Overhearing the barman inquire about the countryman's sorrows, thus, the reason for the spirits this early in the day, he was able to pick up something about problems with women at home, one married to the countryman, one in some kind of serviceable function, and both extremely unwilling to cooperate, with each other and with the man. The barman laughed and patted the countryman's shoulder in a companionable way when the man said something about putting them in a cage and throwing away the key.

Draco wouldn't have paid any of this any mind, had the man at the bar not tried to swindle the barman of the payment with a Confundus charm and then left in a hurry before the barman could recover his faculties. This was suspiciously careless and reeked of someone who had come into power unexpectedly and without a means to learn how to use it. 

Thinking about divine forces, and thanking them, as he had no clue otherwise, he thought 'Cherchez la femme', got up, left enough money for his half-finished wine on the table and followed the man into the labyrinth of the village houses. Following for ten minutes, he just caught the edge of the man's coat disappearing in a door when he turned a corner. 

Standing outside a non-descript house in Southern France, Draco felt the magic emanating from the walls. No Muggle lived here, and though he wondered how and why a witch or wizard would live amongst Muggles as it would cost you a lot of energy to protect yourself against detection, he had to admit that this was a perfect spot for somebody who had something to hide.

Naturally curious for the weaknesses of mankind, he Disillusioned himself and crept into the house, making sure he sidled up to the walls so nobody would run into him. After a short while, he heard screaming from the top floor, and with the house owners thus distracted, he hurried to the back of the house, where he found a little courtyard with a shed and nothing else. He was about to turn and see if he could find a basement of sorts, scolding himself for going out on a hunch and following a cheater to the middle of nowhere in France, when he heard a rattling sound from the shed in the corner. Too big a noise for rats or any smaller animals scurrying around, he decided to explore quickly, before leaving to save his hide lest it be discovered. He'd already been in prison, and he had no intention of returning, especially not for breaking and entering.

It was filthy in the shed. She was filthy. Pent-up in what could roughly be described as a dog pen, he only recognized her by her eyes. She recognized him, he could see it, and from fear to hope to shame to resolve, everything ran across her face before he broke open her cage door and destroyed the magical chain holding her there. Creeping back through the house disillusioned, because he couldn't lift the Anti-Apparation spell, he led her, running, back through the labyrinth until they reached his lodging.

Ten minutes later, they were gone from the South of France. 

It had been a long recovery, he remembered. She had been a broken woman, but the spirit in her eyes was still the same. He felt her magical power leak from her, unbroken, wanting to be channeled again. It reminded him so much of his own idealism in the beginning, wanting to believe in what he thought was a good cause, the suppression of Muggle-borns. Until he realized that it was only about power, everyone for him- or herself, and there was no greater good.It would bite you in the arse as soon as you turned your back. 

He got her a new wand at the first opportunity, even before a new set of clothing; just the way he had gotten one as soon as he had enough money to do so. Her first charm had been to Scourgify herself and afterward he had watched how, slowly, her will to live returned over the following months. 

They didn't speak much in the beginning, former enemies thrown together by fate. She just followed him wherever he went, first back to England, then to Malfoy Manor, restored to the Malfoy family, and accepted everything he offered: clothes, food, shelter, care. Their meals were taken in silence, each brooding over their own thoughts, and if ever he looked for her he found her in the library, taking solace in the abundance of books. By the titles she selected and by her reaction to simple questions, he piecedher story together. There wasn't much: she'd been captured just like Harry, her wand taken, and instead of going to prison, she'd been sold into slavery by an unknown Death Eater, where she remained until Draco found her. A few useless attempts to escape, and the realisation that Harry might have fared far worse than she, had chipped away her will to seek freedom. Additionally, the news that reached her in France had indicated that the system was still the same, Voldemort still in power, and that, should she make it back to England, she would be re-captured with a far worse punishment.

And so, she'd remained, resigning herself to stay put unless she heard other news. Malfoy standing in front of her cage, had given her enough information to try for freedom again. Last she'd heard, he was in Azkaban. If he was free to stroll about Southern France, perhaps things had changed at home. So, she went with him.

Why she stayed with him for her recovery, he couldn't tell. Was it simple gratitude that he had helped her escape? If that was the case, she could have taken essential clothing and food and left. Was she disoriented and helpless due to trauma suffered? Then she would have left after a few weeks, maybe a month or two of recovery. But they'd returned to England half a year ago, and yet, she was still with him. He didn't mind. He'd grown quite fond of her and of her quiet omnipresence in his house, calming him and rationalizing his more brutal plans to avenge himself on his adversaries. When she'd found him in his den one day, a month or two after their return, gnawing his teeth and making a list of thugs who could mug one enemy or another, she'd taken the quill out of his hands and ripped his list apart.  
"It will make you a criminal by extension, Draco. You'll go back to Azkaban for it. Don't do it this way."

He yelled at her for undermining what his scarred psyche seemed to demand of him. "How else can I do it?" Torn between screaming and crying, he'd instead wiped his face vigorously. "My mind won't quiet unless I punish him, Granger. I need to destroy him and the happiness he built on my misery."

While she was sitting quietly next to him, pulling her lip in thought, scrutiny in her dark eyes, he noticed that, for the first time, a spark of purpose came back to her. Suddenly there was a luminousness on her face that hadn't been there before. Then her face had darkened again and when she spoke, she almost whispered as if she was afraid to speak out loud what she was about to say.

"Ron was the only one missing, that time when Harry and I were captured. The meeting of revolutionists was secret-keeper bulletproof secret. Nobody could have known about it but the insiders."

The monstrosity of her disclosure hit even Draco. He heard himself wheezing, and cleared his throat to break the spell.

Her voice was so quiet and with her face turned to the floor, he had to strain to hear her at all, but he listened intently while Granger gave him more reason to hate the weasel. "There were others, Justin, Hannah, Susan, just to name a few. I believe they have all been sold into slavery. Only Harry was put in Azkaban, for being our leader."

She finally looked up, and when their eyes met, he knew that he was going to be bound to her forever, that he would agree to whatever she was going to ask of him. United in a common purpose.

So, he started nodding before she even said, "If you help me to free them all and restore them to a decent life, I’ll help you to bring Ron down."

"I'm listening," he replied as a form of agreement, and they hatched a plan. 

That was how he'd ended up buying Ron out of his fortunes. Granger had been almost giddy this morning when he left to tell the Count and Countess of Devon that they were out on the streets. However, she had encouraged the plan to put Pansy and the child up on an allowance, tempering the degree of vengeful action and ensuring that the desperation to see old debts repaid would not ultimately result in more guilt.

"Of course, Draco. You do not want to punish the child. And it needs its mother," she'd said. And then, she'd embraced him in exuberance and given him a goodbye kiss. He'd been so dazed that he'd almost forgotten his purpose for the day. The sudden intimacy from her almost throwing him off balance. This was a new step in their union.

His mission came back to him when he left the house. He thought about Granger in her cage, the way he'd found her, filthy, beaten, with ripped clothes, and split, crusted lips. If she'd ever been raped, he didn't know. He never asked. It seemed more than likely, given the circumstances, but he didn't want to know, and she didn't want to tell. It was better that way. She had needed some space in the beginning, needed her own quarters, and he'd given her that. He'd made sure she had everything she needed, hot baths, delicious smelling soaps, and fine clothing. He remembered how long he'd needed to get the stink of captivity from his skin. She would have needed at least the same time, he had figured. He'd kept the pantry well stocked and didn't forget fine chocolates for the nerves and fine wines for the feel of civilization.He still preferred them himself, even after all this time.  
Slowly, they had come to share their lives, living under one splendid roof, and one night, during dinner, she had seen the hunger in his eyes, his loneliness while being consumed by thoughts of revenge. He remembered the exact moment, the recognition in her eyes, when she'd realized it. He hadn't been entirely surprised when she'd come to his room later during the night, in a white flowing night gown, like a ghost, gossamer, transparent and unreal, ephemeral even. He'd only been surprised at her own hunger, for the freedom to chose, to decide for herself, to give herself freely, but he'd taken it. Hungry like a starving wolf and a lion, they'd devoured each other like their last meal on earth. Her body had been subtle and still way too thin, but he'd enjoyed her soft skin, her sighs, and her satisfaction. Even if there'd been several repeats in the months since, he still dreamed of that first night that had showed him that there was going to be a life after revenge. Something, someone to look forward to, to share his wealth and life and hopes with.

Since their talk in his den, they had found and freed Hannah, Terry, and the Patil twins, both with the same owner. Also, Katie, and Dean, and Alicia. They were recovering in a seaside home that Draco had bought. Many of the others had disappeared with their owners when Voldemort had been defeated, which made the research for their whereabouts more difficult. Not too difficult for Hermione Granger, however. Draco was pleased to see how she pushed forward, unremittingly, following every clue she found. Every dinner they shared now, which were on most days, she lavished him with reports over her progress. He couldn't help but be happy at the energy she showed.

He still woke up on some nights, screaming, admonishing himself for happy dreams he'd had, of laughter and happy faces and soft skin and meals enjoyed together and beautiful landscapes and even sex and a firm pregnant belly and rambunctious children. Only when she shared his bed on those nights could he turn around and fall asleep again with her smell under his nose. If they'd kept to their own quarters for that particular night, he had to go find her. Otherwise, he'd wander all night, plotting brutal revenge plans that would never come to pass because she wouldn't allow it.

Lying on her bed now, her hand had wandered during his contemplations, from his head over his side and now lay in his crotch, warm and enticing. He felt his sex straining against thebonds, towards her warmth. It was her signal that she was ready to renew their unspoken contract, to use each other to forget the past and to breach the future. Suddenly, he realized how ready he was for it, with her by his side. He only hoped she felt the same. 

When he sheathed himself fully in her warmth a few moments later, he knew what the powers that be were telling him: good things will come to those who wait, and hope.

THE END


End file.
